


crudités

by beamkatanachronicles



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamkatanachronicles/pseuds/beamkatanachronicles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cheap glue seal breaks with a tiny <i>snap</i>, and Gustavo's fingers, almost too practiced and neat for the mundane task, peel the cellophane away from the plastic tray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crudités

A store bought platter of raw vegetables, placed carefully in the middle of the table: in spite of the reason (the restructuring of the cartel's borders, and their territory hedging into his own-- there'd been a death or two, so it'd been a reasonably irritating dispute, in the end) setting these out is still a habit. For the more important guests, at the very least. The cheap glue seal breaks with a tiny _snap_ , and Gustavo's fingers, almost too practiced and neat for the mundane task, peel the cellophane away from the plastic tray. 

Of course, he needn't offer them a damn thing. What does the cartel owe him, if not their _blood_ \-- after all they've done to him?

But that... that's not an issue for this day. For twenty years, he has bidden his time: he can take one more day (and yet another, and yet one more). In the meantime, he will deal with them, and he will be as polite to them as he is to anyone he's _legally_ affiliated with. He'd never give anything less.

And why should he offer any less? Because, in the end, it is all business, isn't it? Stripped down to its most basic elements, nothing truly changes: a supply to give, a demand to meet, customers consuming. A product. Territory, fast food. Methamphetamine. The plastic crinkles in his fist as he balls it up and drops it into a wastebin on his way to the door. 

And perfectly on time, too. Outside the portable building he's using for an office, gravel crunches beneath a single set of tires, and Gus tugs the hem of his sleeve up to look at his watch. They're right on schedule. As inconsiderate as the cartel is as a collaborator, they're at least punctual. When they need something, that is.

Gustavo's hands do not shake on the door's handle; his features do not contort in anger. He has been still and placid for years. It's one more meeting. It's one step closer to the completion of his vengeance. That alone is worth the wait of twenty more years.

He opens the door, spreads a hand in greeting, and grins wide, lips curling gently. He speaks in comfortably enunciated Spanish. He does not show his teeth. 

_"Welcome, gentlemen."_ With a nod and a gesture of his hand, he ushers the four men up the steps and into his office. _"Please, come inside."_

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this bit for an RP sample (almost exactly a year ago!), but liked it enough to post up here after digging it up recently. I love Gus and his veggie platters, seriously.


End file.
